


roll you like you were dice

by alykapedia



Series: bette davis eyes [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Rescue Missions, yoi spy zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-08 23:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20844128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: These are (probably) the facts:1. Yuuri has maybe two (2) bruised ribs, countless abrasions all over his body, a possible concussion, some internal bleeding, and one (1) dislocated shoulder;2. He’s lost a decent amount of blood, enough so that even sitting up has him dizzy; and3. His captors have relocated him from the warehouse and into an empty store room.Which, Yuuri supposes is pretty smart of them.





	roll you like you were dice

**Author's Note:**

> written as a spiritual sequel to "as pure as new york snow" and my piece for the YOI Spy Zine. i had the honor of working with the amazing [skitschell](https://twitter.com/skitschell) who made the fantastic art for this fic!! 
> 
> ngl, my main motivation for this was writing the peanut gallery's interactions and shenanigans

These are the facts:

  1. Romantic entanglements between operatives are highly frowned upon, which is understandable given the nature of their profession;
  2. Despite this, there aren’t really any hard and fast rules banning fraternization because one of their agency’s main proponents--Yakov Feltsman--started the organization with his now ex-wife;
  3. There are, however, a shit ton of authorization paperwork to accomplish should two agents enter into a relationship with each other.

Viktor’s not entirely sure why he’s being made to fill out Form 426-A (Attachment Authorization Form) _ manually _ and in _ triplicate _, but he is. Possibly out of spite. Because Yakov has a vendetta against happiness and good quality coffee, and obviously wants Viktor to suffer. “Are you making me do this out of spite, Yakov?” He asks as he affixes his signature above his printed name for the umpteenth time today. His hand is starting to cramp, and he’s barely even halfway done with the last copy of the form.

Whoever thought it would be a good idea to have a 10-page form to allow people to date their coworkers is an idiot and should be used for target practice.

“If I was making you do this out of spite,” Yakov begins, sitting down on the seat across from him and reaching for one of the forms he’d finished filling out. “I’d make you file this down at Human Resources yourself.” Viktor’s hoping that it’s an idle threat, because there’s a _very legitimate_ _reason_ why their team has an ongoing shooting contest, the loser of which has to attend the mandatory monthly meetings with the HR head, and he’d really rather not have to go down to Human Resources unless he really, really has to. “Now hurry up with that and stop making Katsuki wait for you.” 

At the mere mention of Yuuri’s name, Viktor’s spirits lift and he grins up at Yakov. “Awww, Yakov, you do care!” 

“You mean I’m tired of you hanging around here and making a nuisance of yourself all the time,” Yakov grumbles, which, okay, fine, is a valid point. But it’s only because Viktor’s still suspended from doing field work, and there’s only so much paperwork one can do before one starts annoying one’s coworkers. Medical has yet to clear him for anything more stressful than his desk job despite him saying countless times that he could live with the consequences of tearing his stitches (“Trust me, you won’t be able to live with the consequences of a perforated bowel wall,” Dr. Nekola assures him), and Viktor is so, so bored.

Letting out a considering hum, Viktor starts, “Yakov, can’t you just tell Medical--” only to be cut off by Yakov reaching over to thwack him on the head. “Hey!” 

“Do you have a medical degree?” Yakov asks, before continuing, “No, you don’t, and neither do I, so you’re going to stay put.” And Viktor has half a mind to have a fake medical degree made out of spite. “Are you done?” Yakov asks again, nodding towards the form still in his hands, and Viktor makes a show of signing his name with a flourish before sliding the last form, all ten pages of it, across the table. “Good. Now go.”

Viktor doesn’t need to be told twice and before long, he’s cleared out his table, collected his phone from the charging dock, and stolen a lollipop from Mila’s stash. And then he’s giving Yakov a jaunty salute and sauntering out of their office and into the crowded hallways--feet leading him along the familiar path towards the Intelligence Division.

The Intelligence Division’s main operations floor looks a lot like a movie theater, what with the large screen taking up an entire wall. Except unlike in the movies, if someone dies on screen, well, let’s just say that there won’t be a sequel where it’s revealed that they miraculously survived a point-blank shot to the head.

Fortunately, when Viktor strolls inside, no one’s getting shot at on screen, nor is anyone dying. There is, however, a panicked Guang-Hong running across what looks to be a rooftop. He quickly makes his way to the center console where Yuuri’s sitting cross-legged on his swivel chair, eyes trained on the two large visuals in front of him, calmly instructing Guang-Hong to: “Jump, now, yes, I know it’s one hell of a fall, but you have to trust me on this.”

There’s something about seeing Yuuri in his element that ignites a fire in the pit of Viktor’s stomach. It’s nothing like watching Yuuri when he’s out on a honeypot mission, of course, but it’s thrilling all the same. Yuuri’s good at what he does and he’s a formidable force even when he isn’t on the field and making use of his perfect physical eval scores. He’s one of their organization’s best strategists, and it’s a known fact that if you have Katsuki bossing you around, then you’re gonna get home in one piece. 

Viktor waits until Guang-Hong’s on solid ground before he sidles up to Yuuri and drops a quick kiss on the top of his head, one hand carding through dark hair. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he greets, bestowing another kiss, this time on Yuuri’s scrunched up nose when Yuuri looks up at him to roll his eyes. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, it’s fine. You go on ahead,” Yuuri says, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. “Does your side still hurt?” 

“Not at all,” Viktor lies, even as his side gives a twinge in protest.

“_ Viktor. _”

“Just a little bit,” he admits sheepishly and is rewarded with another kiss from Yuuri, this time on the lips; positive reinforcement and a painfully obvious trick to have him go for a check-up. “I’ll drop by the clinic before I go.”

Yuuri lets out a satisfied little hum and presents his lips again for a kiss. “Make sure you do,” Yuuri says, in a tone of voice that tells Viktor that Yuuri will be calling Dr. Nekola later to check. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, detka,” Viktor murmurs, pressing one last parting kiss to Yuuri’s cheek before finally sauntering away.

Just as he’s leaving the room, he hears Guang-Hong gush, “_ That was so sweet, I think I just got cavities. _”

.

It’s a dumb mistake.

It’s a really, _ really dumb _ and rookie mistake, and when Chris inevitably finds out, Yuuri’s gonna be forced to attend a one-week refresher course on common and uncommon drugs--what they look, smell, and taste like. Because Yuuri’s downed half of his sugary confection of an iced coffee before he even notices the strange aftertaste coating his tongue. Which means that whatever drug they’d laced his coffee with is already wreaking havoc on his system. 

Yuuri barely has the chance to put his cup down on the table before his arm loses strength, falling uselessly by his side as his vision starts going fuzzy around the edges. _ God _ , he really hopes he isn’t allergic to they put in this thing because this is going to _ suck even more if he is. _

After he’d gotten Guang-Hong and Leo back to the safehouse and signed off on all the necessary paperwork, Yuuri had made a detour to the local coffee shop to get a well-deserved treat. 

And now he’s suffering the consequences.

Yuuri just hopes Viktor won’t worry about him too much. 

.

Yuuri doesn’t come home. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t even text.

And Viktor is, understandably, going out of his mind.

Because Yuuri always, always texts or calls whenever he’ll be home late or has to stay at headquarters overnight. Hell, one time his phone died and Viktor hadn’t been online, Yuuri had sent over a nervy trainee--Kenjirou Minami--just to tell Viktor that he’ll be home late and not to stay up waiting for him. So the fact that Viktor hasn’t gotten a single _ will be late don’t wait up _ from Yuuri, who would probably send out a carrier pigeon or a smoke signal if pressed, means that something is very, very wrong.

He’s still a bit groggy from the pain meds he took last night but it only takes Viktor a couple of minutes to go into a full-blown panic when he doesn’t wake up to find Yuuri curled up on his side of the bed. He has Makkachin and Vicchan entrusted to their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Lipnitskaya--former KGB enforcer, makes the best beef stroganoff--and is flooring the gas of his tiny hybrid before he’s even fully awake, body going on autopilot as his mind races.

It must be a hit. Viktor can’t think of anything else that would explain Yuuri’s absence and silence other than _ the _ worst case scenario in their line of work.

Between him and Yuuri, they’ve amassed a small collection of enemies; former marks, their relatives or lovers wanting revenge, entire drug cartels wanting their pound of flesh. You don’t get this far in their kind of business without acquiring a list of enemies as long as your medical record. It’s an occupational hazard, right next to being shot at and dying, and it’s one that Viktor’s never thought much about until he had someone worth protecting. 

If this hit on Yuuri was because of him, because someone found out about their relationship, well, then Viktor’s gonna make sure no one will be left to take revenge, much less consider it, once he’s done taking _ his _ pound of flesh.

Yakov’s waiting for him by the entrance hall when Viktor rushes inside headquarters, the smell of burning rubber wafting behind him. The grim expression on Yakov’s face does nothing but confirm his suspicions, and Viktor grimaces, tasting blood on his tongue as the inside of his cheek smarts.

“Follow me,” Yakov says, already turning around and heading towards the eastern wing of the compound where all of the administrative offices were located. “Now,” he begins as Viktor falls into step beside him, voice going low as they weave through the slew of agents in the hallways. “You’re going to stay calm and not make me regret my decision to sign off on your A-426 form.”

A-426 form. _Yuuri._

Only years of training and dealing with Yakov stop Viktor from startling and making a scene in the middle of a crowded corridor. Still, even his training can’t quite hide the way his tone sharpens as he follows Yakov into a dark, empty AV room. “What does that mean?” Viktor asks slowly, closing the door behind him and watching Yakov fiddle with a laptop.

There’s a projector already set up, the screen showing the interface of a video program that Yakov pulls up, and Viktor eyes the whole thing with suspicion, dread gnawing on his stomach.

“Just stay calm,” Yakov repeats, nodding at Viktor before pressing play. “And sit down. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

And it isn’t.

The video starts in medias res, and shows a large, heavy-set bald man, the picture of a common thug, inside a brightly-lit warehouse hitting a shivering figure tied to a wooden chair. And Viktor’s heart drops as the figure’s head snaps back from a stinging slap, revealing Yuuri’s bloodied face. His left eye is swollen shut, his plush bottom lip bleeding, and his hair is plastered to his skull with what Viktor sincerely hopes is water or sweat.

It’s not the worst thing that Viktor’s seen. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’d had worse just a week ago. But the sight still has his stomach turning, bile noxious on his tongue, because it’s _ Yuuri _ and Yuuri isn’t supposed to get hurt.

Viktor’s only distantly aware that someone is talking from behind the camera, giving out orders and, from the way Yuuri sneers from time to time, providing obnoxious commentary. But he can barely make anything out beyond the rush of blood in his ears as the thug hits Yuuri again and _again and again_, until Yuuri’s head stays down and the man has to tug Yuuri up by the back of his head and Yuuri, _smart, beautiful Yuuri_ _spits blood at the thug’s face._

Viktor’s chair crashes to the ground just as Yuuri does.

His vision goes red and only the sudden flash of the harsh fluorescent lights overhead stop him from doing anything more drastic than upending the table and punching the wall. Viktor hisses as pain bursts in his knuckles, his injured side protesting from the abuse. 

“I thought I told you to stay calm.” 

Letting out a mirthless laugh, Viktor looks up from his bleeding hand to see Yakov wearing a wry expression, and Viktor lets his lips twist into a sneer. Because honestly, what did Yakov expect? “Who took him?” 

“An old mark of his. Harding.” Yakov says, and it’s all Viktor needs to hear before he’s turning on his heels. Before he can do anything more than take a step towards the door, Yakov is asking, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought that would be obvious,” Viktor says, not even bothering to glance at Yakov over his shoulder, that is, until Yakov sends a clipboard flying at him. And Viktor should have expected to see the _ Notice of Suspension _ emblazoned in red ink that greets him, but it still has him doing a double take because-- “You can’t be serious.” 

With a shake of his head, Yakov moves past him and opens the door to the hallway where a jittery trainee waits. “You’re emotionally compromised, Vitya, which is why I’m sending you home.” It’s a cute way of saying that they’re shutting him down, and Viktor tells Yakov so, along with a string of expletives that Yakov prudently ignores. “Make sure he gets in his car.” 

He briefly considers making a scene--he can take Yakov and the trainee with a hand tied behind his back easy--but there’s a flash of _ something _ on Yakov’s lined face that has him biting down on another curse word and following after the trainee like a good boy. They make their way through the hallways, past the entrance hall, and out to the parking lot where the trainee watches him get into his car with beady eyes. 

Viktor shoots the trainee a one-finger salute as he starts his car and peels out of the parking lot, before finally turning to his interloper. Phichit Chulanont--deadly with a knife, deadlier with a computer--waves at him from where he’s sprawled artlessly on the floor of Viktor’s car, strawberry milkshake in hand.

“You’re paying for dry cleaning if you spill that on my carpet,” Viktor says, deadpan, as Phichit takes a noisy slurp of his milkshake. “Is there a particular reason why you’re lying down on the floor of my car?” He asks, although judging from the way Phichit flattens himself on the floor as they pass through a quick security check, he already knows the answer to that.

Once they’re a few meters away from HQ--far enough that the surveillance cameras won’t be able to see--Phichit levers himself off of the floor and onto the backseat. “Our entire team’s on house arrest,” he says blithely, tone a startling contrast from his words, “GH went ballistic after they showed us the video and told us we can’t do shit because we’re _ emotionally compromised _.”

“And I’m guessing none of you are actually on house arrest.”

“_ Duh _.”

Easing out onto the highway with a hum, Viktor takes a deep, bracing breath and says, “Alright. Where to?”

Phichit grins, knife-sharp.

“Chris’ chateau.”

.

Fun fact: Yuuri’s team starts off as Chris’ little pet project. 

When Josef Karpisek finally retires after more than forty years of service to the agency, Chris, former honeypot agent turned Intelligence Department supervisor, rises up the ranks to fill up the void, and the first thing he does is co-opt a chunk of Celestino’s team. Official statements say that there was an entire negotiation. Rumor has it that Celestino just sighed and told Chris to _ not get his kids killed _. 

The next thing Chris does is create what has to be the most deceptive team in terms of appearance versus reality. He transfers Yuuri to Intelligence, frees Phichit from his fifth disciplinary hearing (for rickrolling the MI6 _ again _ ), gets Guang-Hong a sniper rifle, pulls Sara from teaching duty, and promises Leo free reign over the sound systems. And then, as if to prove his naysayers wrong, Chris takes his new team out for a spin and brings down a global drug cartel while Leonard Cohen croons _ Hallelujah _ in the background.

Viktor’s only worked with Yuuri and Phichit, but he’s heard enough tales and seen the team’s glowing 97.86% success rate to know that despite appearances, they’re a well-oiled killing machine. Still, he can’t help but raise an eyebrow when they arrive at Chris’ place where a private jet awaits, and walk into a screaming match.

“Leo, you can’t bring that much explosives!” Guang-Hong yells even as he’s toting along a B+T APR308 and a cache of custom cartridges. “It’s totally unnecessary! We just have to go in, get Yuuri, and get out!”

Leo, who’s carting along a crate of explosives, makes a face. “Uh, no? We go in, get Yuuri, and we blaze these motherfuckers to the ground!” 

Before he can find out what Guang-Hong’s reply to that delightful plan is, Chris appears and hands him a Kevlar vest and a shoulder holster along with two pistols--a Tokarev and a P227 SIG Sauer. “There are knives up on the jet too and those really nice hand grenades Tech’s been working on,” Chris says, and adding with a pointed glance to Viktor’s injured side, “Don’t overdo it or Yuuri will have both our heads.”

Viktor snorts, shrugging on the vest as he takes what feels like the first full breath he’s had ever since he woke up to an empty apartment. 

“We’ll get him back,” Chris says with a certainty Viktor feels in his bones. “I don’t have the patience to train a new babysitter for this lot.” 

.

These are (probably) the facts:

  1. Yuuri has maybe two (2) bruised ribs, countless abrasions all over his body, a possible concussion, some internal bleeding, and one (1) dislocated shoulder;
  2. He’s lost a decent amount of blood, enough so that even sitting up has him dizzy; and
  3. His captors have relocated him from the warehouse and into an empty store room.

Which, Yuuri supposes is pretty smart of them, but then again, they didn’t bother tying him up, so either it’s because they think they’d done enough damage to get him out of commission or they think that he won’t try to escape. Both options are equally stupid because once upon a time, Yuuri jumped out of a moving train with a broken tibia and into a freezing lake; he’d died twice on the operating table.

Unless he goes into cardiorespiratory arrest, Yuuri is going to try and escape. Especially, he thinks, eyes falling on the metal chair at the corner, when they make it so easy.

The store room is small, barely two meters by three, with a single bed, a metal chair, and a single, steel door that, judging from the absence of any visible hinges, opens outwards. There’s a small air vent just above the chair, but Yuuri quickly dismisses it. Which means that the door is his best bet at getting out of here. _ Awesome. _ Another quick glance around the room tells him that not only did they not bother tying him up, they also didn’t bother with surveillance cameras.

Still, the absence of any surveillance equipment means no one will see him cry out in pain as he resets his own shoulder. His arm goes back into its socket with a wet pop, and Yuuri’s vision whites out from the pain, bile burning in his throat as he dry heaves. It takes him three minutes to recover, and another two before he can trust himself to stand. 

He’s idly considering using the metal chair to bash the wall in, when the steel door opens, and Yuuri doesn’t even think, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s lifting the metal chair and swinging. Metal meets bone with a sickening crunch, blood splattering across the wall, and Yuuri only lets the chair leave his grasp when no one else comes running in. 

The man, the same thug who’d beat him up earlier, must have come alone--to do more damage or make good on the promises he’d hissed into Yuuri’s ear--and Yuuri takes a moment to relish in his handiwork before quickly stripping the man out of any weapons. He extracts two Berettas--a 98 A1 and a 98 FS--as well as a hunting knife that Yuuri slips in the back of his pants, just as footsteps arrive, followed by the sound of gunshots. 

Yuuri runs. 

.

.

“Yuuri?”

The first thing that comes to Yuuri’s mind when he hears and sees Viktor is that he’s dying. He’s lost too much blood and now he’s hearing and seeing things; it’s just his luck that his brain has decided to show him Viktor, who he’s never even told _ I love you _ because he was too afraid that Viktor doesn’t feel the same, and who Yuuri will never ever see again. The second thing that comes to mind is that for a hallucination, Viktor feels awfully solid and warm, smelling faintly of aftershave and gunpowder and home, and Yuuri has to stumble away from where he’d practically collapsed into Viktor’s arms so he can look up and see Viktor gazing down at him with bright, blue eyes filling with tears.

“_ Oh _,” he breathes out, hands coming up to cup Viktor’s cheeks, fingers tracing over the spray of freckles on the bridge of his nose. “Oh, you’re real.”

Letting out a sob that pulls at Yuuri’s heart and has the tears that he’d been holding back falling, Viktor nods, pressing their foreheads together, and says, “Yeah, I’m real.”

“What are you doing here?” He asks and gets an incredulous huff of laughter for his troubles as Viktor shakes his head with a smile.

“Rescuing you,” Viktor says, as if it should be obvious, and Yuuri guesses that it is, but he’s busy still marveling at the fact that Viktor is here, and he’s real, and _ Yuuri can still say that he loves him _. “But it seems you’ve already beaten us to that.” 

“You guys were way too slow.” 

“God,” Viktor breathes out, looking at Yuuri as if he’s the only thing that matters. “You’re amazing.” 

And then Yuuri is pulling Viktor to him, pulling him close until their hearts beat as one, and he can taste the sweetness of Viktor’s lips--

“Okay, this is really sweet, but we gotta run.” Phichit’s familiar voice says loudly from somewhere behind him, and Yuuri startles away from Viktor’s lips to level a glare at Phichit, and _ huh _ , the rest of his team. “We have a little under seven minutes to clear out because _ someone _ already set off the detonator.” 

Leo bristles, and from where they’re still pressed together, Yuuri can feel Viktor shake with laughter. “I said I was sorry, okay!”

“It’ll be just like that time in Bangladesh,” Yuuri muses, earning himself a glare from Phichit.

“We almost _ died _ in Bangladesh.”

“I believe the keyword is _ almost _.”

.

These are the facts:

  1. Harding and his ilk definitely won’t be bothering Yuuri or anyone else ever again after they, as Leo says, _blazed the motherfuckers to the ground_;
  2. Debriefing with Chris and his team involves far less yelling and more freshly-made spinach puffs courtesy of Chris’ husband (and Viktor wants to formally file for a transfer because Mathieu’s spinach puffs are to die for);
  3. They all owe Dr. Nekola a visit to the clinic tomorrow, especially after Chris had somehow gotten the man to treat them and make sure no one will be dying over the night; and
  4. Yuuri is safe and sound and back in their apartment where he belongs.

Everything should be fine. Everything _ is _ fine. But Viktor’s instincts are still going haywire, his skin still crawling and leaving him with a sense of foreboding that has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, telling him that something is wrong even though Yuuri is standing in the middle of their living room, a new pair of glasses perched on his nose and looking around their apartment _ with a lost look on his face _.

“I asked Mrs. Lipnitskaya to look after Makkachin and Vicchan,” Viktor says suddenly, running his mouth in an attempt to fill the yawning silence growing in the room; chase away the listlessness on Yuuri’s face. 

Yuuri nods almost mechanically, as if he hadn’t even noticed their dogs’ absence and only realized it at Viktor’s words. “Okay,” he says, even though he looks far removed from the realm of being _ okay _ and Viktor is more than ready to do everything in his power to bring back the light in Yuuri’s eyes, make him stop looking as if a single gust of wind will have him toppling over. “We’ll have to get her flowers or something.” 

“Do you--” Viktor swallows down the sudden dryness in his throat, as he makes his way towards Yuuri, movements slow and carefully telegraphed lest he spook him. “Do you want me to go get them?” 

Maybe Makkachin and Vicchan’s presence can help fill the void. Before Yuuri, only Makkachin’s constant warmth had kept him sane after the more difficult missions, but Yuuri only shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself and looking even more lost when they’d started. “No, we’ll get them later when it isn’t too early,” Yuuri says, breath hitching at the very last syllable when Viktor touches him on his uninjured shoulder and pulls him into an embrace. 

And just like that, Yuuri breaks.

“_ Oh, miliy _ , my darling, shhh--” Yuuri’s sobs sound as if they’ve been dragged out of him, and Viktor wants--to make himself stronger than he is, to become a safe space for Yuuri, to protect him from the world and its horrors, but for now he can only hold all of Yuuri’s pieces together for him. Tears soak through the thin cotton of Viktor’s shirt as Yuuri cries _ and cries and cries _, the rush and adrenaline finally wearing off and leaving him shaken. 

Plastering on a smile that feels more like a grimace, Viktor gathers Yuuri ever closer and presses a soft, fleeting kiss to his temple, breathes in the scent of Yuuri’s hair. “Come on, let’s get you in a bath, okay?”

Getting Yuuri into the bathroom is easy enough, so is preparing a bath while Yuuri’s still curled up around him and sniffling, tears hanging onto his dark lashes for dear life. What is proving to be a challenge and a half, however, is getting Yuuri out of his clothes. Dr. Nekola’s done most of the work when he’d checked on Yuuri’s injuries earlier, but dried blood still stuck to a few cuts, and Viktor has to carefully pry them off, so that when he finally helps Yuuri into the tub, the hot water has gone lukewarm, almost tepid.

With Yuuri submerged in the water, Viktor slowly gets to his feet, intent on preparing tea or even a quick snack while he waits for Yuuri to finish washing. “I’m gonna go and--”

Before he can do anything more than stand, Yuuri is reaching out to catch his hand in a tight grip that tugs at his very heartstrings.

“Yuuri?”

**Author's Note:**

> a LOT of the backstory of yuuri's team (i.e. chris, phichit, et al.) is thanks to forochel who yelled with me about this once upon a time hahaha


End file.
